A Very Johnlock Christmas
by prodigaldaughter13
Summary: Done for a Tumblr OTP Christmas Challenge. Lots of fluff, the occasional foray into child!lock, simply because it's adorable. Otherwise, pretty linear. I hope you all enjoy it, it's my first time doing something like this! UPDATE: Sorry I forgot to post days 22 onward on here. I got an AO3 and posted it on there but forgot to post it here!
1. DAY 1: PUTTING UP DECORATIONS

"John, no. I am not helping you hang up _ornaments,_" Sherlock stressed the last word, acting like John had just asked him to be pleasant to Anderson or something equally impossible. John rolled his eyes at his flatmate.

"Sherlock, it's Christmas. You made me wait until December to start decorating, and now you're going to help," John insisted. Sherlock had been trying to wheedle out of the decorating all day and John had had enough. He looked up from the cardboard box of tinsel and lights to watch his flatmate for a moment. Sherlock was sprawled –that man never just _sat,_ he had to take up the entire available surface possible- across the sofa, his dressing gown falling off his shoulders. At least he was wearing actual clothes this time instead of a bed sheet.

"But John-" Sherlock began, his voice taking on a whine like a small child.

"No buts. You're helping," John interrupted, getting up and grabbing Sherlock firmly by the arm so he could yank the detective off the couch. Sherlock groaned about for a bit, but with some urging from John he finally assisted with trimming the tree and hanging fairy lights around the room.

"Sherlock, can you give me hand? I can't quite- reach," John admitted, trying to hang a bundle of green plants from the doorway. Sherlock blinked curiously at the leaves and the cherry red berries. They seemed familiar… where was that information- aha. There it was.

"John, pray tell why are you hanging mistletoe?" Sherlock asked curiously, taking the leaves from the doctor and hanging it easily so that it dangled down into the doorway. John turned slightly pink but answered nonetheless.

"My mum always used to hang it up. It just doesn't feel like Christmas without it up," John admitted softly, looking up at the mistletoe nostalgically. Sherlock's brow furrowed. Christmas at his home had never been so… homey. His family always celebrated it 'traditionally' by not speaking to each other while the servants hung all the sparkling, fragile decorations. Nothing like the simple homemade ornaments John had pulled from the boxes with a large smile.

Suddenly Sherlock recalled precisely the use for mistletoe. "You are aware, John, that if two people are caught beneath the mistletoe, they're honor-bound to kiss." John turned a dark shade of red, but Sherlock ignored his embarrassment, noting the small tinge of interest and growing pupils that marked the doctor's face. Sherlock carefully slid an arm around the former soldier's waste, taking his chin in his free hand and tilting John's face up to his own.

His mind, for once, was silent, hushed in on this one moment, this one second in time. Sherlock leaned down gently, giving John ample time to pull away if he so desired, and felt a fierce wave of triumph when John leaned closer. Finally, after an eternity of silent tension, Sherlock pressed his lips softly to John's. John relaxed into the kiss with a small sigh; a sound Sherlock could never have guessed the doctor knew how to make.

It only lasted a moment, Sherlock pulling back after a moment to stare at John's features, relaxed and happier than he'd seen them in a long while. Sherlock smiled gently. "Well, that was interesting," he breathed into the space between them. John's mouth –that _mouth_- quirked up in a small smile.

"Interesting is certainly the word," John murmured before pulling Sherlock back down to meet him.


	2. DAY 2: MAKING CHRISTMAS CARDS

John settled down at the table, shoving away some of Sherlock's experiments to make room for the large pile of blank generic Christmas cards he'd bought. They weren't really even Christmas cards, more of thank-you-for-not-murdering-my-flatmate cards. John went through them methodically, signing them and addressing them with a mindless ease that years of doing them for Harry gave him.

Sherlock swept inside, a blast of chilly air following him as he slammed the door shut with his heel and peeled off his coat and scarf. "What on earth are all those for?" Sherlock demanded. "Surely we don't know that many people."

The army doctor turned to glare at Sherlock over his shoulder. "One for Mrs. Hudson, one for Mycroft, one for Greg, one for Molly, a group one for Anderson, Donovan and the lot, and one for Harry. Six is hardly a lot of people, Sherlock," John scolded mildly. Sherlock scoffed. "Quit moaning and come sign these for me," John insisted, shoving the four that he'd already filled out over towards the mad detective.

Sherlock settled into a chair opposite John with annoyance etched on his face. He took a pen off the table and began scribbling furiously at the cards. Part of John was a little curious as to what the man was writing, but most of him just didn't want to know. If what had been written proved too offensive, he'd simply copy Sherlock's signature onto a new set of cards.

"There," John said, sliding the last card over to Sherlock to sign. "That's the lot of them. Would you get the stamps?" he added once the detective had finished signing the final card. Sherlock glared at him for a moment but rose and grabbed not only the stamps but also envelopes for the cards.

John quickly skimmed the cards, noting that Sherlock had actually been rather pleasant, scribbling a standard _happy holidays_ above his signature. He passed them over to Sherlock, who slid them into the envelopes and sealed them with a lick across the glue. John very pointedly ignored that tongue and filled the remaining envelopes himself before rising from his seat and gathering them into a pile.

"Coming to the post office with me?" John asked. Sherlock made a grumpy noise in his throat but got up and yanked his coat on so he could follow. Halfway down the hall Sherlock reached between them and grabbed John's free hand. When the doctor looked over at him, startled, the detective rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't pretend you didn't expect it, John." John nodded slightly, with a smile spreading over his face and they carried on to the post office, hands linked firmly between them.


	3. DAY 3: SITTINGSNUGGLING IN FRONT OF THE

"Sherlock, do you want any tea?" John asked from the kitchen, knowing the answer before the detective gave it.

"No, John, I don't want any tea," came the reply from the living room. Sherlock had picked up a new journal that morning and he'd been immersing himself in it ever since, finding things in it to disprove, or to confirm later. Upon getting back to the flat Sherlock had retreated briefly to his room in order to change into pajamas before settling down comfortably with his back against the couch and his legs spread across the floor in a pile of limbs while he read.

John had immediately seen how cold Sherlock was, despite the fact that he'd never admit it, and had draped a blanket over the detective before going to make himself some tea. He poured two steaming mugs despite Sherlock's iterated desires and made them up like they each liked it. After disposing of the tealeaves, he carried the mugs in and sat on the floor next to Sherlock.

"Here," John said, passing Sherlock his mug. Sherlock gave a rare smile and set down his book so that he could accept the warm cup. John stole a corner of the blanket, nestling into it and taking a sip of his tea. They sat in silence for a bit, taking sips of their drink and not really doing anything but enjoying the feeling of being warm and comfortably indoors while the snow came down outside the windows. When the tea was gone, neither of them particularly had a desire to move.

John set his mug aside and leaned his head gently on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock smiled again and wrapped his arm around John's waist, pulling him close against the detective's chest. John fell into a lovely half-sleeping state as Sherlock's chest rose and fell beneath his head. When he felt Sherlock's lips brush gently across his temple, he rose from the sleepy warmth and kissed him back gently. Sherlock pulled away, and pressed a soft kiss to John's forehead.

"Go back to sleep love." John nodded sleepily and dozed back off, wrapped in warmth and Sherlock.


	4. DAY 4: SHOPPING FOR ANDOR WRAPPING GIFT

"Jesus, Sherlock, it's not rocket science!" John exclaimed, trying to figure out how to extricate his partner from the ribbons and tape he'd managed to cover himself in.

"No, John, it is _infinitely _more complex. Rocket science has a formula, has a reason, this, this _nonsense _has _no _reason to it. It's all—frills, and ribbons, and _paper_!" Sherlock ranted, trying to get himself out of the paper and ribbon. John laughed lightly, stepping nearer and undoing the tangles deftly.

"Oh, you silly bugger," John laughed, dropping the tangled mess to the floor next to them. He moved to kiss the detective, but he was stopped.

"No time for that, John, you have to show me how to do this," Sherlock insisted with all the tenacity of a child. John only laughed again, shaking his head indulgently as he sat down on the floor next to where all the wrapping supplies and gifts were spread out. John had been left in charge of gift buying, and he'd agreed so long as Sherlock attempted to help with the wrapping.

"Sit down, Sherlock, otherwise I can't show you. Pass me Mrs. Hudson's earrings, it'll be best if we start small," John said, pulling out a length of wrapping paper. "First, double the width and length of the box, and add a bit on each end, then cut it." He cut the paper. "Fold it over like this," here he demonstrated, "and tape it." He held his hand out for Sherlock to give him the piece of tape. The detective complied, his sharp eyes taking in every movement of John's hands. "Now fold the other piece over like this," John said, taping it firmly in place. He glanced up to ensure that the detective was following. Sherlock gave a nod and John continued. "Fold the sides into triangles and tape them to the sides, see? And then you're done," John pronounced, flipping the box over with a smile.

"There's no bow," Sherlock commented, sounding confused.

"Well, you've got to put it on, Sherlock," John answered, keeping his face straight. Sherlock's brow furrowed as he reached for the spool of ribbon. John smiled, placing his hands over Sherlock's and guiding them gently as the pair wrapped the ribbon around the box and tied it into a large bow at the finish.

Sherlock picked it up and examined it. "I think I've got it," he proclaimed.

"Why don't you try it, then?" John suggested, passing him the gift he'd chosen for Lestrade, one of those fancy money clips that people often used instead of wallets.

Sherlock nodded gamely, turning his back so John couldn't see how he was getting on. John snickered quietly and Sherlock shot him a look over his shoulder before going back to his wrapping. A few moments later, he turned around and proudly displayed the box. John stared at it blankly for a moment, and then glanced back at his. In comparison, Mrs. Hudson's gift seemed bulky, unevenly wrapped and messy.

"That-That's a far sight better than mine," John finally said. Sherlock laughed, a light sound that John never got tired of and didn't hear nearly as often as he'd like to. He leaned over and pressed a kiss gently to John's cheek.

"Much as I'd like to do this all night, we do need to wrap the remaining presents," Sherlock said after finally withdrawing.

John gave a frown and tugged Sherlock over to him. "We'll get them tomorrow," he said, kissing Sherlock again. Sherlock smirked quietly and pressed closer to John with a happy sigh.


	5. DAY 5: PICKING OUT A CHRISTMAS TREE

"Couldn't we simply have an artificial tree, John? The amount of time you spend grousing about the vacuuming is already considerable. With falling needles, that will increase your vacuuming by twenty minutes," Sherlock complained from the passenger seat. John rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored his partner as they drove away from London towards a tree lot Sarah had recommended.

"I cannot believe you made Mycroft loan us a car so you can go buy a _conifer," _Sherlock commented again a few minutes later. John smirked, but reached his left hand over the console to take Sherlock's.

"It's not just a 'conifer', Sherlock. It's a Christmas tree! Come on, you can't honestly say you don't like Christmas trees," John laughed, giving Sherlock's hand a squeeze. Sherlock's mouth twitched up in smile.

"I've never really seen much of a point in Christmas really," Sherlock admitted, "but I think I'm starting to."

John smiled, and let the last few minutes of the drive pass in silence. They pulled up to the tree lot and parked carefully, minding the ice. "Come along, Sherlock, it's not as cold as you think," John encouraged, half-dragging the detective through the snow to the lot.

"I don't understand this, John, what on earth do we even _do_?" Sherlock said, finally picking up the pace and walking alongside John.

"You pick one, Sherlock, you know, one you like!" John laughed, leading Sherlock down a path in-between the trees. "What about this one?" John asked, stopping in front of one he knew was too small, just to annoy Sherlock.

Sherlock gave him a long-suffering look. "John, that tree is much too small," he proclaimed. John smiled to himself. Mission accomplished. Sherlock started to fall into the swing of things, tugging John ahead like an excited child when he spotted a tree he liked, and then sprinting off again when he found a better one. Suddenly the detective stopped dead in front of him.

"This one," Sherlock said with a nod, his eyes lighting up as they took in the tree. "Definitely this one." John slid an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and took a solid look at the tree. It did seem rather ideal. John caught sight of the lot owner and waved him over with his free hand. Sherlock looked on in interest as they cut the tree down and hauled it back to the car.

"You know," John said, tying the tree tight to the roof of Mycroft's car, "you could help with this."

"Nonsense, you've clearly got it handled," Sherlock said, turning the heat on in the car while John double-checked the knots. John rolled his eyes but climbed in and started the drive home. Sherlock dozed quietly in the passenger seat, looking absolutely stunning as usual, but John refused to allow it to distract him. They pulled up in front of Baker Street and John leaned over to shake Sherlock awake.

"Sherlock, we're home. Wake up and help me move the tree, you great git," John said, laughing as Sherlock groaned and rolled away before finally coming to.

"I'm not helping with that," Sherlock said, getting out of the car and looking from John to the tree and then back again.

"Oh, yes you are," John said, snagging the detective around the waist and pulling him to back to the car. "I think we can manage it between us, don't you?"

"No, I don't think we can. Thankfully that's Lestrade pulling up. I'll have him help before he gives us the case," Sherlock commented, gesturing to the car that had just parked across the way from them. John waved Greg over and exchanged pleasantries while Sherlock stood apart trying to undo the knots in the rope.

"John! They won't come undone," Sherlock interrupted. John gave Greg a small smile.

"Give us a hand?" he asked. Greg nodded, thankfully, because Lord knows Sherlock wasn't going to be much use. The man couldn't even untie the knots himself. Maybe he should just open the door for them.

In the end, Mrs. Hudson had to open the doors while all three men pushed and pulled the tree up the stairs and into the main room of the flat. Greg passed the case file off to Sherlock and quickly left them alone while Mrs. Hudson merely smiled and mentioned she was going out for the evening.

John kissed Sherlock lightly on the cheek. "Admit it, you like the tree," John teased. Sherlock pouted, but relented finally as John jabbed him lightly in the ribs.

"All right, all right, I like the damn tree," Sherlock said, pushing John's hands away as John moved to poke him again.

"Knew it," John said confidently.

"Well, you're _obviously _the clever one here," Sherlock conceded sarcastically.

"Oh shut up," John replied, pulling playfully on one end of Sherlock's scarf.

"Never."


	6. DAY 6: DECORATING THE TREE

John groaned, stretching his back now that the box is settled down on the table. Sherlock glanced up from the paper, raising an eyebrow at the dusty cardboard, no doubt analysing the contents.

"John, pray tell why do you have a box of ornaments on the table?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. He was eyeing the blank Christmas tree anxiously.

"Because our tree is empty, Sherlock," John smiled, flipping the box open and pulling out an ornament. Sherlock studied it briefly. It was the sort you made in primary school, out of flour and such. It didn't look like John's sort of thing; it was shaped like a gingerbread woman with short dark hair.

"Harry?" Sherlock inquired, standing up and walking over to stand behind John. John was quiet for a moment, gazing at the ornament with nostalgia etched across his face. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist and perched his jaw on the man's shoulder.

"Harry," John confirmed. "She made it for me when she was in her third year. I promised to keep it."

Sherlock smiled. This was his John, soft and caring, and fierce in the keeping of his promises. He pressed a small kiss to the doctor's neck. "Let's hang it up first then," he suggested. John smiled widely and moved to the tree and hanging on the nearest bough.

"Start passing," John ordered with a grin. Sherlock began passing ornaments to his partner, occasionally asking questions about this one or that. Some had belonged to John's parents, others had been gifts from friends over the years, and a precious few, the ones that made John smile the most, were from a young Harry.

Sherlock was busy reaching deeper into the box for the last few ornaments when he heard a loud thump. He looked up, mildly alarmed, only to see John jumping again, trying to hang the ornaments higher on the tree and hilariously unable to reach.

Without thinking, Sherlock began to laugh. John whirled around. "Oh, funny is it? You could help, you great giraffe!"

"Giraffe!" Sherlock scoffed, sweeping over to the tree imperiously. He took the ornament from John's hand and placed it where John had been aiming. "Go get the rest of them, I'll put them up," Sherlock laughed as John scowled at his height and stalked back to the box.

Finally there was nothing left for the tree but the star. "If you like, we could get you a step ladder so you can put the star up," Sherlock teased. John narrowed his eyes at the detective but let his face relax into a smile a moment later.

"Oh no, the youngest has to put the star up," John replied smoothly. Sherlock only quirked an eyebrow before reaching up to perch the star atop the tree. He settled back on his heels, admiring the tree with a small smile.

"Not bad, John, not bad at all," he stated, looking the tree over critically. John only nodded, wrapping an arm around the detective's waist. Sherlock leaned against him, enjoying the peace of the evening. Something occurred to him. "There aren't any lights."


	7. DAY 7: MISTLETOE

Sherlock was grinning. This was concerning at the best of times, but now, in the enclosed flat, it was downright alarming. John stepped into the living room with trepidation, unsure of what precisely his partner was up to but certain that he wanted no part in it. The detective continued to smirk, but not at John, at some point above him.

John looked up and immediately began to laugh. "Really, Sherlock? Really?" He sat down on the edge of the chair. Honestly, it shouldn't have struck him as this funny, but there he was, his sides starting to ache he was laughing so hard. Sherlock gave him an aggravated look.

"John, it's not that funny," he insisted, but John only shook his head falling further into his seat in amusement. Sherlock scowled, pulling his knees up to his chest. John, with no small effort, got himself under control and moved to sit next to Sherlock.

He pressed a small kiss to the detective's cheek. "Don't be cross, I'm only teasing," John murmured. "It just- well, you have to admit, it's a little funny." John grinned when Sherlock pulled back a bit in annoyance. "Oh, come on, the great Sherlock Holmes, laying in wait to ambush his flatmate under the mistletoe? What would the tabloids say?" Sherlock started to get up, but John tugged him back down, knocking the detective off-balance so that he fell into John's lap.

He drew him down for a chaste kiss.

"All right," Sherlock mused a moment later. "Perhaps it's a little funny." John smirked, leaning forward to kiss along Sherlock's jaw.

"I'm just annoyed you didn't think of it sooner," John replied, whispering in Sherlock's ear.

"We'll just have to make up for lost time then," Sherlock replied easily.


	8. DAY 8: MAKING SNOWMEN

"John, you're _doing _it wrong!" Sherlock exclaimed, shoving his friend out of the way so he could round the snow better.

"Am not!" John shot back, blowing out an angry cloud of steam into the frosty air.

Sherlock only rolled his eyes; of _course _John was doing it wrong, anybody could see that. But he allowed his friend to elbow back in front of the partial snowman with the next ball, making the chest.

"When's Mycroft coming to get us?" John asked, batting Sherlock's hands away and fixing the second ball himself so that it sat straight. Sherlock shrugged.

"I don't know, Mummy said to be home by dark, though," Sherlock said. He didn't really care where Mycroft was, he wasn't any fun since he started going away to school. All he wanted to do was read his boring books, books that weren't even _interesting; _politics and government and all sorts of _boring _things. No, Sherlock would much rather spend his time out in the snow with John, even if John was a little silly.

"Good. Mycroft's lame," John said seriously, bending down to form the snowman's head. Sherlock laughed a bit and bent over to help the struggling John push the head on top of the snowman. John took a step back, and frowned. "He needs a face."

Sherlock reached into his coat pockets. The coat had been Mycroft's before he got boring, so it swam on Sherlock's tiny body, but the pockets were big and deep and useful.

"You're smart," John said, taking the coal and carrot Sherlock had just pulled out and sticking them into the snowman. Sherlock grinned and pulled off his own scarf to put it around the snowman's neck. "And my hat!" John insisted, trying to put it on top. He couldn't reach. Sherlock took it from him, a little smug that even though John was older, Sherlock was still taller.

The kids stood back for a second, grinning at the snowman. He looked silly, with John's hat with the bobble and Sherlock's dark scarf and no arms, but Sherlock liked him.

"Hey, freak!" Sherlock turned, knowing who it was before he saw her. Sally came charging across the snow, her crony Anderson right behind her. Sherlock frowned.

"What do you want, Sally?" Sherlock asked, turning to straighten the scarf on the snowman so Sally couldn't see his face.

"Just wanted to see what the freak was doing," Sally said, putting her hands on her hips, showing off for Anderson's sake.

"I told you not to call him that," John cut in angrily. Sherlock tried to shake his head; it'd only make things worse if John tried to defend him.

"What're _you_ gonna do about it then?" Sally demanded, turning on John. He stood there a moment, angry, but Sherlock knew he wouldn't do anything. John wouldn't hit a girl, no matter how mean she was to either of them. He was too nice.

"I'll tell Greg!" John threatened. Sally turned white. Greg was the oldest by two years and he was the only one in the neighborhood that could scare Sally into listening. Sally turned away angrily, muttering under her breath.

"Oops," she said as she walked away, shoving out a hand and knocking Sherlock into the snowman so that they both fell down. His eyes closed automatically and when he opened them again, it was to John, bending over Sherlock and the remains of their snowman.

John's hand was stuck out for Sherlock to grab; he hauled his friend up to his feet and helped dust the snow away from his coat.

"Sally's a jerk," John decided, picking up his hat and Sherlock's scarf. Sherlock nodded, allowing John to fix the scarf around his neck, even if it was a little wet from the snow.

"Yeah," Sherlock agreed, jamming John's hat onto the boy's head. "She really is."

John grinned at him for a moment. "Wanna go sledding?"


	9. DAY 9: WEARING UGLY CHRISTMAS JUMPERS

"It's not much but I thought you boys ought to have something nice to wear for the Christmas party," Mrs. Hudson said, handing John the shopping bag. John smiled and thanked her as she left the flat. A moment later a wad of wool smacked Sherlock in the back of the head.

"What was that for?" Sherlock demanded, turning around and picked up the jumper. He held it up for examination. It was… well, it was hideous, plain and simple. A garish green color that Sherlock knew wouldn't look good, covered in what appeared to be, yes, actual light-up fairy lights. A small switch concealed in the right sleeve turned them on and off. He looked up to see what John had gotten.

"Not a word, you," John warned, yanking his sweater on. It was even worse than Sherlock's. John's was an orange-red, with kittenson it. Kittens. In elf hats. _Kittens. _Sherlock couldn't help it, he just began laughing. John looked so disgruntled in his jumper, a steely look glaring out over the simpering kittens that Sherlock couldn't even bring forth the effort to properly poke fun at it.

"Shove off, you've got to wear yours to," John said, stepping over to where Sherlock was seated on the couch and shoving his jumper into his lap. "Well, go on," John insisted when Sherlock hesitated.

"This is ridiculous," Sherlock muttered as he pulled the sweater on. When his head popped through he could feel his curls sticking up in static-y disarray. John only smirked, running his fingers across Sherlock's hair.

"I dunno, I rather like the look," John laughed, tugging lightly on one curl. Sherlock rolled his eyes, trying to ignore how good John's fingers felt.

"We don't really have to wear them to the party, do we?" Sherlock asked, already knowing what John's answer would be.

"Yes, we really do. Don't give me that look, Mrs. Hudson did something nice for us by getting us something, the least we can do is wear them." John playfully pushed at Sherlock's shoulder, and Sherlock shoved back, just a bit harder. Soon Sherlock had John pinned back against the couch. "On the other hand," John mused, "that sweater _would _look a lot better on the floor."


	10. DAY 10: BAKING HOLIDAY TREATS

John walked through the door, already exhausted from a long day at the surgery. Sarah had kept him running around between patients all day; he hadn't even had time for lunch. What he really wanted to do was to come home, order in, force Sherlock to eat some, and go to bed early while Sherlock stayed up with his experiments. His flatmate evidently had other plans.

"What the hell are you doing?" John asked, staring into the kitchen in surprise. It looked, per usual, like a small explosion had gone off in it, but instead of being an explosion of science like normal, it appeared to be an explosion of flour and sugar.

Sherlock looked up from the bowl of batter he was stirring only long enough to take in John's day. "Go ahead and order some Thai," Sherlock said, dodging the question primarily just to annoy his doctor.

John stepped into the kitchen, trying to avoid getting flour on his clothes when he gave Sherlock a brief kiss on the cheek. "Alright, but really, _what _are you doing?" The oven was on, there were eggshells and half- empty bags of flour and sugar lying out, and Sherlock appeared to be using his lab coat as a sort of apron.

"I'm… baking. It's a traditional holiday thing to do, isn't it?" Sherlock questioned, moving to the semi-clear table and beginning to roll out the dough. John stood aghast for a moment then shook his head. If Sherlock was capable of having sex, Sherlock was capable of anything. There were very few things he could do now that would surprise John.

That was before the sprinkles.

They were strangely whimsical, obviously either stolen from Mrs. Hudson or bought especially for the cookies. Knowing Sherlock, most likely the former. Sherlock sprinkled them over the snowmen and Christmas tree shaped cookies, obviously not caring if they got all over the kitchen.

"Here, John, take a plate down to Mrs. Hudson, she'll like them," Sherlock said a moment later, loading a plate with the treats and shoving it toward John. The doctor nodded and ran them down. Mrs. Hudson had thanked him, and expressed no small amount of surprise when John had revealed Sherlock was the cook.

"That's what he's been banging on about all day," she mused, shaking her head. "You'd best get back up to him, then, before he causes more trouble." John nodded, rushing up the stairs as he realized exactly how many things Sherlock could get up to in the brief time he was downstairs.

When he arrived upstairs, Sherlock was smirking. "Did Mrs. Hudson scare you?" Sherlock asked with smarmy smirk.

"No, but the idea of you, alone, with an oven is a cause for alarm on its own," John replied, reaching to steal a cookie. Sherlock swatted his hand.

"Not yet, those are for the others," Sherlock said. John raised an eyebrow. "Harry, Lestrade… Mycroft," Sherlock added the last one on reluctantly.

"Then we'd better get delivering, or they won't last that long," John commented, nibbling on the cookie he'd managed to snatch while Sherlock had been thinking. It was actually pretty good. Then again, his detective was full of surprises.


	11. DAY 11: SNOGGING IN FRONT OF THE FIREPLA

"John… we don't _have _a fireplace."

"Sherlock, shut up, it's what the prompt says!"

"Love… is that a fireplace on your laptop?" John asked, looking at the screen while Sherlock curled up with his back against the sofa and his legs tucked beneath him.

"Don't ask questions, John, just sit down." Sherlock patted the space next to him. John smiled, dragging a blanket off his own chair while he walked over and sat by Sherlock, slipping an arm around his partner's shoulders as the other hand draped the blanket over them both.

John pressed his lips against the top of the detective's head where it rested on his chest. Sherlock tilted his head up, bringing their lips together slowly. So that was his game, with the fireplace. John had to give him credit; it was creative. Cleverly, the detective deepened the kiss, parting his lips and bringing his tongue out to capture John's. With a small note of shock from Sherlock, John pulled the man into his lap in one smooth movement. The detective relaxed quickly, though, shifting his legs to straddle the doctor. They pressed closer together, a moan coming from one of them, but John couldn't tell which, didn't care which; all he cared about was getting closer to Sherlock _right now. _

"Come here," he murmured, as if they could get any closer together. Sherlock's fingers trailed over his chest and arms, finally teasing the edge of his jumper. With a sudden flash of motion, Sherlock pulled back and peeled the jumper and undershirt off. John, not to be outdone, unbuttoned Sherlock's ridiculously tight shirt, nearly popping the buttons off but managing to remove it with minimum damage.

He ran his hands down the man's chest, marveling to himself that he could do it, that they were together and he was allowed –_encouraged _if Sherlock's breathy gasps were to be believed- to touch him. John could hold him like this, could bring him close and taste his skin, and Sherlock's fingers would flutter over his chest and shoulders, scraping and pawing to pull them closer together.

"Oh, _John,_" Sherlock gasped a moment later when John ran his teeth lightly over the place where the detective's neck met his shoulder. He repeated the motion again, putting more pressure, but not quite enough to mark just yet. Sherlock arched into him, pressing until there wasn't a millimeter of space between them. John wrapped his arms even tighter around his detective, never wanting to let him go.

He leaned up and made the kiss fiercer, trying to say with his lips what he couldn't put into words. Sherlock seemed to understand, responding to and returning the passion. The detective nipped gently at John's lip, making him gasp and pull back just a bit to look into Sherlock's eyes.

"_Mine._" The word was whispered, so soft and tender John thought for a moment he might have imagined it, but the look on Sherlock's face confirmed it. John surged up again, capturing Sherlock's lips with his.

"Yours," he agreed in a brief second their lips were free. It occurred to him just how strange this entire relationship was; how basic rules to relationships said this shouldn't work. Sherlock was mad, and he hardly bothered to connect with people. John was lucky, special and Sherlock had let him in. He'd never felt more amazing or amazed. For one evening, everything was perfect.


	12. DAY 12: WATCHING A CLASSIC HOLIDAY FILM

John finally managed to coax Sherlock away from his experiment long enough to put on a movie, pulling out all the stops when he did. "It's a tradition, Sherlock, c'mon! Harry and I always watched it as kids, and you've never seen it. Please just watch a bit of it?" Sherlock had relented after much begging and the offer of a free pass to put whatever he wanted in the refrigerator, which John was certain he would live to regret. When they finally settled onto the sofa, Sherlock immediately sprawled out so his head was lying in John's lap and his feet were propped on the opposite armrest. John only smiled, and carded his fingers gently through the detective's hair.

Sherlock was always entertaining to watch movies with, provided you didn't mind having the ending ruined and the actors mocked mercilessly. It kept John well entertained, giving an old film new life. Every so often Sherlock would fall silent, drowsing off in John's lap, as slowly the flat darkened around them. When the movie finally ended and the credits rolled, Sherlock was completely asleep in John's lap.

The doctor smiled, shifting slightly so he could lie alongside his detective. With his spare hand he dragged a blanket over them both. John wrapped his arms protectively around Sherlock, keeping the detective close against his chest so he could hear their hearts beating in tandem.

Of course, at some point in the night Sherlock must have woken up, because when morning came, John was nestled next to him in the detective's spacious –and infinitely more comfortable than the couch- bed. Sherlock nuzzled closer to him, refusing to let John out from under the blankets. "Five more minutes," he muttered, and John humored him. Whatever the day had could wait.


	13. DAY 13: LISTENING TOPLAYING FESTIVE MUS

John came home from the surgery, and was once again surprised by the sight that met him in 221B. Or rather, the sound. Instead of Sherlock's usual clamoring of experiments or melodies of the violin he could hear what sounded like the Nutcracker through the door. He opened it up cautiously, only to find Sherlock waiting just inside the door. The dark haired man was smiling gently, a soft expression John rarely saw outside of their most intimate moments, with his hand outstretched.

"May I have this dance?" he asked. Without a second thought John tossed his coat aside and allowed Sherlock to gather him up against his chest.

"You _would _lead," John murmured when it became clear what Sherlock's plan was. Sherlock only smiled, placing one hand on John's back and holding their clasped hands away from them slightly. John settled his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, allowing him to rest lightly against the detective's breastbone.

The detective led them spiraling around the living room, through the kitchen, and back again. John stumbled now and then, but Sherlock easily corrected for them both, pulling the doctor into neat spins around furniture and the occasional dip for fun. As the music reached its climax they spun faster and faster until John was very nearly breathless, both from the speed and the surprising intimacy of Sherlock's gaze.

Sherlock leaned in, still moving them at a dizzying pace without seeming to give it a thought. "Do you trust me?" he whispered, his breath tickling John's earlobe. John could only nod. Sherlock beamed and lead them down the hall into their bedroom, spinning John neatly under his arm until the ex-soldier was held fast against Sherlock and then- they fell backwards onto the bed with a huff of air. Distantly John could hear the music still playing, but he didn't much care. Sherlock was looming over him, hands now on either side of the doctor's face, their breath coming short between them. Sherlock had never looked quite as stunningly gorgeous as he did in that moment, a pink flush spreading over his alabaster skin and his curls falling in a slightly damp disarray around his face, forming a dark halo. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the underside of John's jaw, then to his chin, then the tip of nose, and finally slotted his lips over the doctor's mouth.

"I didn't know- you liked- Christmas music," John gasped out in the moments his lips were free. Sherlock grinned against his lips.

"I don't." John opened his mouth to ask but Sherlock claimed it once more with his own. "But you do."


	14. DAY 14: ICE SKATING

"But- but John- I don't know _how_," Sherlock protested as John dragged him onto the rink. The detective balanced precariously on his skates, glaring down at them as if he expected them to vanish or trip him at any moment. John only smiled, taking the man by his elbow and showing him how to move his feet.

"You can learn. If you can teach me to dance, I can teach you to skate," John insisted, sliding his free arm around Sherlock's waist to support him. "Just like this, step and glide," John illustrated, taking Sherlock along with him. The detective nodded, his face taking on a serious cast as he studied John's movements. The doctor couldn't help but laugh seeing the studious expression. "Relax, Sherlock, it's not a case, you needn't focus so hard."

Sherlock looked at him askance. "Of course I do, how else will I learn?" he demanded, stepping out of John's arms to take a shaky glide forward. He promptly fell, his coat fanning out around him and his expression thoroughly shocked. John couldn't help it, even as he helped his partner to his feet he was laughing. Sherlock glared, but allowed John to brush him off and kiss him good-naturedly on the cheek.

"Perhaps you should stick a bit closer to me this time?" John suggested with a grin. Sherlock only nodded, settling back into the smaller man's embrace as John pushed them forward and around. Soon Sherlock had gotten the hang of it, and was moving with ease around the rink, tugging John after him with a laugh.

They cut around other, younger couples, and few looked at them with irritation, but John couldn't care less what they thought. When he started to get a bit cold –he hadn't thought to wear his good coat, just his jumper- Sherlock immediately shed his scarf and wrapped it tenderly around John's throat.

John smiled happily, letting his partner lead him around gently by the hand. Once Sherlock started showing signs of cold, John insisted on buying them both large cups of hot chocolate, which they drank while resting on a bench inside the rink, Sherlock's arm warm around his shoulders.

"Admit it," John began, bumping Sherlock playfully, while being careful not to slosh the cocoa onto his coat.

"Admit what?" Sherlock asked, taking a sip of his drink and pretending he didn't know what John was on about. John smirked.

"This was a good idea," John stated.

Sherlock tried vainly to mask his grin, but eventually just let it show before swooping down and pressing a light kiss to John's temple. "It wasn't an altogether awful idea," he compromised. John was having none of it.

"Good idea," he insisted, kissing Sherlock's cheek.

"Not awful," Sherlock argued, kissing John's jawline.

"Good," John replied, a kiss landing on the tip of Sherlock's nose.

"Brilliant," Sherlock finally agreed, kissing John squarely on the mouth, ignoring the few around them who gazed on in annoyance, seeing only his John.


	15. DAY 15: HAVING A SNOWBALL FIGHT

"Come _on, _Sherlock! Greg wanted us there _ages _ago!" John shouted, tugging his friend towards the park.

"I don't even _like _them, John, why do I have to go?" Sherlock demanded, giving up the ghost and plodding along next to John. The older boy only shook his head at his friend's silliness.

"'Cause, Sherlock, it'll be fun! Don't you wanna see Sally's face when I nail her with a slushball?" John asked his voice excited. Sherlock smiled a bit at the thought. She'd be livid but couldn't do a thing over it. He picked up his feet a bit and soon he and John were racing down the park. Mycroft waved vaguely at them from the car, already buried in a book. Sherlock rolled his eyes but slowed down so John could keep up –his legs were shorter than Sherlock's after all, the younger boy thought smugly.

A few minutes later they ran into Greg, who showed them where Sally and Anderson were preparing to do battle. They'd figured that Greg and John could have Sherlock since he didn't know how to have a snowball fight. While Greg built up a fort around them of packed snow, John showed his friend how to pack the perfect snowball, just firm enough that it stung but loose enough that it would dribble down inside the victim's coat and soak them through. Sherlock learned quickly, and soon Greg gave Sally the signal that they were ready to start.

"Ready, Sherlock?" John asked lowly, handing over a snowball. Sherlock nodded gamely. John beamed, already excited, and then he burst out from behind the snow wall and began scooping and throwing towards the opposing side. Sherlock followed him, throwing and reforming and throwing again. The first few pitches he missed Sally and Anderson completely, but he got closer and closer until finally-

"Did you see that, John!" Sherlock crowed victoriously as one of his snowballs caught Sally right in the face. She reeled backwards and John hooted with laughter, high fiving Sherlock in shared euphoria.

"Guys, get Anderson!" Greg ordered from behind the fort. He'd clearly decided they were doing fine enough on their own. Sherlock and John grinned at each other and immediately dove for more snow to throw at Anderson, who tried to duck and hide behind his own fort.

The pair of friends circled around and nailed him with a few well-placed snowballs. It was John who declared a cease-fire, so long as Sally and Anderson would concede defeat. They both nodded sourly, hating to admit that Sherlock had beaten them, but they couldn't argue or they'd be soaked through with snow in a matter of minutes.

When Mycroft came to collect John and Sherlock a few hours later, the entire group was soaking wet with bright red cheeks and noses. Mycroft shook his head lightly, and offered them all a ride back to the Holmes's for hot chocolate and some time to dry off. Sherlock didn't want to bring Sally or Anderson, but John told him he had to, or it wouldn't be fair. Sherlock finally agreed, and when they got home Mummy had the maid bring them all dry clothes and blankets and steaming mugs of hot cocoa with marshmallows in it. John bumped him playfully when he tried to sneak an extra marshmallow, but then only stuck his tongue out to let Sherlock know he'd been caught. It was nice, having a friend.


	16. DAY 16: CATCHING A COLD FROM BEING OUTSI

The only bad part of winter, Sherlock decided, was colds. After their romp in the snow the day before, he and John had both gotten sick. Mummy blamed it on being outside too much, but Sherlock didn't think that was quite how it worked. But Mummy had agreed that as long as they were both sick, John might as well stay with Sherlock, so they could keep each other entertained.

"Ah-CHOO!" Sherlock sneezed loudly, then sniffled. "That's not how a knight moves, John," he explained through a clogged nose. He'd been trying to teach John chess for almost an hour, and he still wasn't catching on.

"But he's –achoo!- on a horse, why can't he just go anywhere?" John asked, sneezing in response. Sherlock shook his head.

"Because, that's not how it _works_," Sherlock insisted. When the maid came up ten minutes later with their medicine they were still arguing, only now it was over a jigsaw puzzle. "No, Mary, we don't _need _any medicine," Sherlock tried to order. She ignored him, and dosed them both with awful cough syrup and made sure they swallowed it. She gave them each a cup of chamomile tea, which Mummy insisted was good for them, but Sherlock only liked it with lots of honey, something John always made a face at.

When Sherlock started pouring the honey into his tea, John sneezed suddenly, making Sherlock squeeze too hard and squirt honey all over the tea table. That made John start laughing, and once John had started laughing, Sherlock had to join in. A moment later John decided to try and style Sherlock's curls with the spilt honey. Sherlock didn't take well to this, and decided to try and paint up John's jumper with some of the tea. When Mycroft came in, sent by Mummy to 'see how those boys are getting on' he found them rolling on the floor of Sherlock's playroom, honey covering them both with tea stains on the carpet. With a longsuffering sigh he got them both bathed and the room cleaned up. Then he sat them both in bed with strict orders to not move. So naturally, the moment the door had closed behind him, they began building a blanket fort. Colds might be no fun, but having one with a friend was enough to make up for it.


	17. DAY 17: SPENDING TIME WITH FAMILYFRIEND

"John, I don't see why I have to dress up just to go to one of Mycroft's _boring _parties," Sherlock complained, fastening the cuffs on his suit. John only smiled, undoing Sherlock's sloppy tie and doing it up properly. Sherlock nodded his thanks, smoothing the front of the tie down and taking in his reflection. It'd do, and John seemed pleased enough with it.

His partner, of course, looked stunning. The suit made him look taller, somehow, and even more attractive than usual. It cut well on him, making him seem even cleaner-cut and sharp. Sherlock briefly considered just staying in for the evening and finding a few more inventive uses for ties, but one reproving glance from John told him that his presence at his brother's party was mandatory. John pulled him out to the curb and hailed a cab, giving the cabbie the address Mycroft had sent on the invitation.

Sherlock curled against John in the cab, not caring if he wrinkled his suit. John drew him closer. "I know you hate these, Sherlock, but it's really important to Mycroft that we come," John whispered. Sherlock made a noncommittal sound low in his throat. "I mean it. Just like it's important to you that Harry come 'round now and then." Sherlock nodded at this; it _was _important that John know his family was welcome to Sherlock, and he supposed, if he thought about it, Mycroft might be trying to do the same thing.

John kissed his forehead gently. "C'mon, we're here," he said, stepping out and then holding the door for Sherlock. Ever the gentleman, he took Sherlock's arm and led him into the party. Immediately people paused to glance at the new arrivals, then just as quickly looked away. Upon realizing who it was, they looked again; causing an amusing double take that had Sherlock smirking.

"Try not to look so smug," John muttered, leading Sherlock down towards where Mycroft stood, Lestrade at his side. Sherlock even gave his brother a smile and cordial greeting while John firmly shook his hand and gave Greg a smile.

"Lovely party, Mycroft," Sherlock commented sincerely. It did look rather nice, the lights were low but not too dim, and everything seemed to sort of shimmer. A string quartet played in one area of the room, providing a dance floor of sorts for those who wished to dance. To another wall was a table laden with various puddings and a punchbowl.

John and Greg chatted while Mycroft went off to schmooze and Sherlock's gaze wandered the room. Every so often a young lady would look over at John with interest. Each time it happened Sherlock would step a bit closer to John, silently claiming his doctor, until he was looming over John's shoulder.

Greg laughed a bit. "Seems Sherlock's a bit anxious tonight, John," he commented. John turned to see Sherlock and laughed lightly at his proximity, leaning up to kiss his cheek fondly.

"Yes, I'd better take care of him. Besides, you should be with Mycroft, off wooing the masses," John said, shooing Greg away easily. Sherlock frowned as yet another woman tried to meet John's gaze across the room.

John must have seen Sherlock's glare, because he reached out a hand. "You did promise to try and enjoy yourself," he reminded Sherlock gently. "Dance with me?"

How could Sherlock say no? A moment later he folded his John into his arms and moved him smoothly over to the dance floor. Without any thought he moved them through the basics of a waltz, leaning his head down so he could breath in John's unique scent, something of a cross between tea and gunpowder, at once comforting and dangerous.

"I think Mycroft is really happy you're here," John whispered as they danced. Sherlock shrugged as he spun them around.

"I believe he's more pleased that you're able to _get _me here," Sherlock amended, and he was right. Mycroft was happy that someone could keep an eye on Sherlock, get him to do what needed to be done. And truthfully, Sherlock was happy he'd found someone that made him _want _to do what needed to be done.

He leaned down again, kissing the tender skin just behind John's earlobe and provoking the most delightful shiver before he spoke. "Thank you, John," he whispered.

John smiled again and allowed Sherlock to spin him into another dance.


	18. DAY 18: ONE LENDING THE OTHER A COATHAT

"John, why didn't you bring a coat?" Sherlock demanded. It was nearly freezing outside, and John was walking about wearing only a jumper.

"If you recall, Sherlock, you rather rushed us out of there. I didn't have time to grab it from the closet," John explained as he kept pace. They were hurrying to a crime scene, and true, Sherlock had rushed them a bit, there wasn't even time to hail a cab. They'd have to walk. But with John exposed like this he'd fall ill before they even reached the scene. Sherlock stopped and John came to a halt a few steps later, walking back to ask why Sherlock wasn't walking. Before he had the chance, Sherlock peeled off his overcoat and helped John into it- well, forced John into it. John protested the whole while.

"But Sherlock, you've only got on your shirt underneath, you'll freeze," John insisted, trying to remove the coat when Sherlock started walking again.

"No, I won't, but if you take that coat off I won't wear it and we'll _both _be ill and you'll just have to put up with it," Sherlock threatened. He'd nearly forced his scarf on the doctor as well, but wisely assumed that the line would be drawn there. Besides, Sherlock wasn't all that cold, seeing John in his clothing warmed him up considerably. When they arrived at the crime scene, Lestrade somehow managed to keep a straight face, an impressive feat considering how the coat swam on John's smaller frame.

"Oi, Freak! Boyfriend forget his coat?" Sally called mockingly. John turned on her smoothly and walked over. Sherlock couldn't hear what he said, but considering Sally's expression, it must've been quite good. John came back over a moment later, and linked hands calmly with Sherlock.

"What did you say?" Sherlock asked under his breath while they examined the body. Nothing too interesting, a crime of passion, former boyfriend reappeared at an inopportune time, presumably while current boyfriend was present. The woman had sent her boyfriend away so she could deal with her ex, and had wound up dead in the alley. Simple.

"I told her that just because she was frozen through and through didn't mean I had to be," John said softly. Sherlock chuckled, and John sent him a gently reproachful look. Ah, that's right, laughing over bodies was a bit not good. Sherlock straightened up and gave Lestrade the rundown before tugging John away from the crime scene.

"We're hailing a cab this time," John insisted, stepping to the curb when Sherlock began to walk back towards the flat. Sherlock began to protest, but John all but shoved him into the cab. He quickly settled in next to the detective, nestling neatly into his side. "I'm not having you catch ill just because I forgot my coat," John murmured.

Sherlock smiled, pulling his doctor closer to him. He'd never be cold so long as John was around.


	19. DAY 19: THROWINGATTENDING A HOLIDAY PAR

John's hair was all rumpled; he must have only just pulled his jumper on. "Running a bit late, are we?" Sherlock asked with a grin, catching his partner by the waist and kissing him.

"Yes, _we _are. I would've been ready ages ago if _someone _hadn't taken so bloody long in the shower," John pretended to grouse, pulling free of Sherlock's hands and stepping into his shoes.

"I was hoping you'd join me," Sherlock replied smoothly, pulling their coats out from the closet and helping John into his. They hurried outside to the cab Sherlock had waiting, and pulled up to the Yard only a few minutes later. The building was lit up with Christmas lights and Sherlock could hear the tinny music from where he stood on the sidewalk. For a moment he was overcome with anxiety. He'd never attended one of the Yard's parties, or any sort of party other than ones he'd thrown himself or been forced into by Mycroft. John, sensing his partner's nerves, took Sherlock's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before walking inside.

Immediately Molly came up and hugged them both, even giving John a kiss on the cheek, leaving a small smear of lip gloss that Sherlock whisked away a moment later with his thumb. Greg came over and clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, smiling gruffly in a way that said, very clearly _yes I'm involved with your brother and no nobody here knows. _Sherlock and John both nodded their understanding and made their way over to the punch bowl.

Sherlock poured them both a cup of punch and took a sip while he watched the party. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist. "Don't look so anxious, this isn't a test. It's a party, enjoy yourself," he whispered quietly. Sherlock nodded curtly, unable to really respond due to nerves. It didn't make sense, this sudden anxiety over a _party _of all things. He'd faced down serial killers and gunmen, but place him in a room full of people he considered friends and he shut down.

John recognized it immediately, and found a remedy. "Here, just take my hand and follow me. If in an hour you still want to go, we'll leave, deal?" Sherlock agreed quickly, knowing how much John had looked forward to the party and silently swearing to make it through.

They went about, making the rounds and chatting with the Yarders over this and that. John had the strangest memory for personal details. He remembered to ask Donovan how she liked her new flat, Greg how the new car was running, and even asked Anderson how things were going with the new girlfriend. Sherlock could see the answers as plain as day in their faces and clothing, but somehow John made asking seem like the better option to observing. Sherlock noted it for use later.

Soon an hour had passed. John gave Sherlock a questioning look as if to ask _do you want to go? _Sherlock shook his head. He was enjoying himself thoroughly. Seeing John like this, moving easily through waters that had terrified Sherlock only earlier that evening… it was brilliant. When the party finally died down and they were on their way out, Sally smiled and them both.

"Thanks for coming… Sherlock."


	20. DAY 20: ONE SURPRISING THE OTHER WITH AN

Sherlock had spent weeks hunting down the perfect gift for John. Limited knowledge of sentiment had led to many fruitless searches of department stores and tiny shops alike, and all of them yielding the same lackluster results. Finally, he'd found precisely what he was looking for. A jumper, something soft and comfortable like John preferred to wear, but in a sharp blue color he never bought, one Sherlock knew would look good on him. At first Sherlock had intended to wrap it and place it under the tree Christmas Eve, along with the secondary gift he'd gotten John, but a few days before Christmas his plans changed.

John never got out of bed; he _rolled_. Right out from under the covers and onto the floor. He claimed it was unintentional, but Sherlock maintained that nobody could do it with such frequency and aim without doing it intentionally. On the twentieth John had rolled out of bed and to the wardrobe only to find a small surprise waiting for him.

"Sherlock…" Sherlock sat up in bed. That was John's exasperated voice, and it rarely boded well for those on the receiving end, especially one dark-haired detective. "Were you experimenting with moths at any point recently?" John asked, stepping back so Sherlock could see the state of the wardrobe. Moths covered every surface, fluttering from cloth to cloth, obviously having chewed through most of the jumpers already.

Sherlock began to chuckle. "I- I may have been experimenting with them a month or so ago," he managed, trying desperately to keep a straight face. John scowled.

"It's not funny, Sherlock, what am I to wear to work today, if my entire wardrobe has been eaten by moths?" That's when the idea had struck. Sherlock bounded out of bed –no foolish rolling for _him_- and sprinted into the living room, where he'd concealed John's gift beneath the tree. He ran back into the bedroom and thrust the package into John's hands.

John smiled gently at the wrapping job before looking back up at Sherlock to make sure it was all right to open. When Sherlock nodded, he neatly cut the tape with a fingernail and unwrapped the gift. He made a small noise of joy at gift before he pulled it from the wrapping and unfolded it, holding it against himself in surprise. He leaned over to kiss Sherlock on the lips. "It's perfect, love," he said, pulling it on and yanking on a pair of trousers. "But you're still in trouble over the moths."


	21. DAY 21: SPENDING THE EVENING IN A CAFÉ

Once a month, John insisted on taking Sherlock out for a proper date. Apparently that entailed John paying for dinner despite the fact that they shared bank accounts, and Sherlock allowing John to open doors, pull back chairs, and take his coat for him. It didn't much matter to Sherlock, but it was important to John that he takes Sherlock out once in a while, so Sherlock cooperated. That evening John wouldn't say where they were going, instead he insisted that Sherlock do his best not to deduce the evening's plans, but to simply bring an interesting book.

This was enough to rouse Sherlock's curiosity but, true to his word, he didn't try to figure out where they were going. He'd dressed simply, in the purple button-down he knew John liked and his black slacks. John wore the blue jumper again as they'd yet to go shopping to replace his moth-eaten shirts.

When the cab arrived, John slid a piece of paper to the cabbie who immediately began driving a rather circuitous route, presumably to throw Sherlock off. They pulled up nearly fifteen minutes later outside a small café. John smiled at Sherlock's look of surprise. He stepped out of the cab, holding the door and assisting Sherlock out of the backseat before paying the cabbie and bidding him a good night. John took Sherlock by the hand and led him inside the cozy shop. Instead of booths or tables, the place was littered with large plush chairs, the sort Mycroft's study had when Sherlock had been a child, and small coffee tables to rest drinks on.

"I thought we could have a quiet night out, as our nights in never seem to be very quiet," John said with a small grin. He gestured for Sherlock to have a seat on the loveseat while John hopped in line to order.

The doctor returned a few minutes later to find Sherlock already immersed in his book. He gently set one mug of hot chocolate in front of Sherlock and then curled up next to his detective with his own mug folded gently between his hands. Almost absently Sherlock's arm slid around John and stroked his arm lightly. The hot chocolate vanished quickly, and John leaned his head softly on Sherlock's shoulder, reading drowsily, only catching the odd word on the detective's pages. He eventually drifted off to sleep with Sherlock's hand tracing idle patterns over his arm and wrist. Hours later, or perhaps only minutes, Sherlock stirred, waking John up.

"It's time to go, they're closing," Sherlock whispered, pulling a half-asleep John to his feet and helping him outside where he hailed a cab. Once they'd climbed in, John returned to his nap, leaning into Sherlock and curling closer as if Sherlock was his pillow. When the cab pulled up in front of 221B, Sherlock paid, knowing it would irritate John when he woke up fully, but not caring so long as he could keep John in this lovely sleepy state.

He helped his partner up the stairs to their room, guiding him gently into bed and removing his jumper and trousers before changing into his own pajamas and crawling beneath the covers. John instinctively nuzzled closer to Sherlock, pressing their bodies together as they drifted off to sleep.


	22. Day 22: MAKING S'MORES

John and Sherlock had both recovered from their colds, but Sherlock had begged Mummy to let John stay over just one more night. They had an idea for a prank on Mycroft that Sherlock really wanted to try, but he couldn't tell Mummy that. Instead he said he wanted someone his own age to play with because Mycroft was boring. It was sort of true, close enough that John didn't give it away as a lie.

Now it was nearly midnight and the entire house was asleep except the two boys. They sat up in Sherlock's room, giggling quietly and waiting. Once the grandfather clock down the hall started to chime Sherlock gave a nod, signaling John to start moving. John reached under the bed and pulled out a pot of cold tea while Sherlock grabbed some rope and a bucket from his bookshelf. The pair scampered down the hall to Mycroft's room. Sherlock could hear his brother snoring through the slightly open door. Perfect.

John gave a devious grin. "I'll grab a stepstool," he whispered, handing Sherlock the pot of tea. While John went to find the stool, Sherlock poured the tea meticulously into the bucket, making sure not to spill any. He didn't have to worry about noise much, Mycroft slept like a rock. John reappeared by his side a second later with a chair dragging quietly behind him.

Sherlock tried not to giggle as he climbed up on top of the chair. "Pass it," he hissed impatiently. John made him wait while he fastened the rope first to the doorknob and then to the bucket's handle. Then he finally handed up the bucket. Sherlock balanced it carefully so when Mycroft got up the next morning it would pour all over him but the bucket itself would catch before hitting his brother in the head. John insisted on that, he'd accidentally his sister doing the same thing, and he'd been in trouble for ages.

Once the bucket was up, John tugged Sherlock down and pulled the stool away. Mycroft's breathing changed, he snorted in his sleep, and the boys gave each other a startled look before sprinting back to Sherlock's room.

They collapsed on Sherlock's bed in fits of silent laughter, imagining Mycroft's face the next day. After the laughter had died away, John's stomach made a loud grumbling sound. Sherlock grinned at it. "Here, I've got a surprise," he said proudly, making John cover his eyes. Then Sherlock reached over behind a pile of books and pulled out a plate.

"S'mores!" John whispered. Sherlock gave him a scolding look.

"You peeked!" Sherlock pouted. He'd wanted to surprise him. John only smiled in response, snatching a s'more off of the plate.

"Don't be grumpy, it's a great surprise!" John said through a mouthful of graham crackers and chocolate, marshmallow gumming up his words. Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at that, and then he took a bite of his s'more. John was hard to really surprise, but he was going to manage it someday.


	23. DAY 23: HAVING DRINKS TOGETHER ON CHRIST

"Neatly done, wrapping it up in time for Christmas," Lestrade said, giving Sherlock a nod as he finished analysing a case. Sherlock brushed off the compliment lightly.

"There was no reason to wait around, besides, John said we have plans," the detective said with a smile in the doctor's direction. John glanced up from his conversation with Donovan to return the smile.

Lestrade nodded again, approvingly and clapped a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "He's good for you, you know," he began gruffly. Sherlock remained silent; clearly Lestrade had more to say. "Even –ahem- even Mycroft thinks so," he finished, lowering his voice as he brought up the elder Holmes. Sherlock smirked.

"Pillow talk with my brother, Lestrade?" he began. Suddenly John appeared at his elbow, somehow sensing that Sherlock was about to find a line and cross it.

"Sherlock, remember, plans tonight," John said, taking his partner's arm firmly. Lestrade gave John a grateful look and then seemed to recall something.

"Just a second," he said, ducking under his desk and coming back up with a bottle of champagne. "Molly sent this over to give to you, she thought I'd see you before she did. Wanted me to tell you happy Christmas."

John smiled and said thank you before urging Sherlock out the door and into a cab. Sherlock turned. "Do we actually have plans tonight?" he asked. John hadn't glanced at his watch once; when they had plans he'd check it every few minutes to ensure Sherlock didn't make them late. John shook his head.

"We've got plans to not have plans," he replied. Sherlock considered asking for elaboration, but deemed it unimportant. John was pleased at the idea, and that was enough to keep Sherlock from questioning things until they were home.

They popped in on Mrs. Hudson for a few moments on their way in, wishing her a happy Christmas as she was leaving the next morning to spend Christmas day with her sister. She insisted they take a plate of biscuits up with them, "to leave out for Saint Nick, of course," she'd said with a wink. Sherlock had nearly fallen for that one, opening his mouth to argue the improbability of Santa before catching the twinkle in John's eye that usually meant someone was having him on. Instead, he thanked her for the treats and headed up to the flat with John in tow.

"Put on some music, would you?" John asked, stepping immediately into the kitchen with the champagne and biscuits. Sherlock pulled a face but went over to the cheap CD player he'd bought and hit play. The score of the Nutcracker began where they'd left off earlier, the music familiar as it washed over the flat. Sherlock sank comfortably onto the couch, and John joined him a moment later with a glass of champagne and a biscuit for each of them.

"Mmm," Sherlock hummed as he sipped the drink. "These are our not-plans for the evening then?"

John gave him a playfully disapproving look. "There are no plans, that's the point," John said, drinking from his own glass. Sherlock smiled softly at his partner, admiring how nice he looked in the gentle light of the flat. The new clothes suited him much better than his old ones had; there was one experiment that ended with a better result than anticipated. Although he still had several unanswered questions about moths.

Almost absentmindedly Sherlock bent and kissed John, simply because he could. John set his glass aside, took Sherlock's and did the same, before snuggling closer to Sherlock and kissing him back.

Sherlock snaked his arms around John, tugging the doctor closer until there wasn't any space between them. He could feel John's smile under his own lips, and the answering grin he gave. Very gently he scattered kisses over John's face, mapping out the man's features with the gentle brush of his lips. Time paused and stretched, making the evening last at the same time forever and not nearly long enough. John pulled back.

"We've got to go to sleep soon, if we expect presents in the morning," John teased.

"You just want to get me in bed," Sherlock shot back with a grin, nipping playfully at John's earlobe. The doctor laughed lightly.

"I don't see why they both can't be true," he replied, standing up and drawing the detective after him. Sherlock gave a nearly predatory grin. Both it was then.


	24. DAY 24: SNEAKING AROUND AFTER THE OTHER

There wasn't much point in sneaking a gift under the tree with Sherlock around the house, but old habits die hard, so early Christmas morning John crept out of bed, trying not to shake the mattress. Sherlock groaned but rolled over and went back to sleep immediately, much to John's relief. The doctor padded down the hall, trying to avoid the squeaking floorboards as he went. Sherlock slept fitfully at the best of times; making too much noise would surely rouse him from sleep altogether and ruin the surprise.

Being careful to dodge around Sherlock's varying experiments –why that man couldn't keep them contained to the upstairs bedroom, John would never know, it's not as if John was actually sleeping there- John approached the tree in its corner of the living room. They'd left the fairy lights on at Sherlock's behest; John still thought they looked like a fire hazard, but so was just about everything else in the flat, so the point was moot. The lights reflected off the ornaments, making strange shimmering shadows on the walls while John tried to find the best spot to place his gift. His parents had always hidden his first gift, making it a sort of challenge to find it before the presents could be opened. He knew Sherlock would enjoy deducing the gift's hiding place just as much as he'd enjoy deducing the gift.

Finally the perfect hiding spot presented itself. Tucked behind the pile of papers stabbed into the mantelpiece, so that the skull and knife hid it from view. Obscured enough to be missed on first inspection but quick enough that Sherlock would find it merely amusing.

John gave a last look around the living room, trying to see if he'd left any tracks. He couldn't discern any, which meant any he'd left were subtle enough only Sherlock would see it. The room looked like home, despite the strange sounds coming from Sherlock's gurgling experiments, or possibly because of them. _It wouldn't be home without the threat of an explosion_, John thought wryly as he slid back into bed.

Sherlock immediately noticed his presence, curling up to his doctor instinctively, seeking out the new source of warmth in the bed. John smiled, sliding an arm around Sherlock and drawing him closer. He hadn't realized how cold the rest of the flat was until he was back in bed, wrapped in the warmth of the multiple quilts Sherlock insisted on having. John fell asleep quickly, happily waiting for the morning when Sherlock would go to search for his gift.

Once he was certain John was asleep, Sherlock extricated himself from the embrace and slid out of bed. John had woken him up the moment he'd left bed, but Sherlock had allowed John to creep about, knowing it'd make him happy. Now, though, John was sound asleep and Sherlock was free to put his gift for the doctor under the tree.

Much faster than John had managed, Sherlock navigated down the hall and into the living room. He remembered where everything had been left and so didn't have to give pause after each step to determine where he next would step. Sherlock quickly concealed the package inside the tree's branches, ignoring the small pricks and sticks of the needles as he did so. Once the gift was properly concealed Sherlock was tempted to search and deduce his own present, but decided John would probably be annoyed with him if he acted on the idea. Instead he joined John back in bed and burrowed deep in the quilts to wait for morning.


	25. DAY 25: SPENDING CHRISTMAS MORNING TOGET

Unsurprisingly, Sherlock woke up at the crack of dawn Christmas morning. "John, wake up!" he demanded, poking at John's shoulder. His doctor yawned and rolled over, away from Sherlock's voice.

"Five more minutes, Sherlock," John muttered, burying his face in his pillow. Sherlock gave a short laugh before tossing back the blankets. John hissed, curling up against himself in the hopes of staying warm. Sherlock was having none of it, he reached over and lightly tickled the doctor, who squirmed and chuckled before finally admitting defeat by climbing out of bed and wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

"I'm stealing your dressing gown," John said, snatching it from where it sat on the desk by the bed. Sherlock allowed it, slightly amused at the sight of John wrapped up in Sherlock's robe.

"Hurry up, then, I want to see your face!" Sherlock insisted. He wasn't overly concerned about his own present, but he wanted to see if he'd been right in his gift choice for John. If he'd been right, John would be pleased, and Sherlock was looking forward to seeing it.

"All right, all right," John laughed, rushing out to living room with Sherlock's hand in his. "You've got to go first, and you've got to find yours," John instructed, sitting down in his armchair with an expectant look. Sherlock frowned; he really did want John to go first, but John urged him on with a grin.

Fine then, he might as well try and find it. Without much thought, he narrowed the possible locations down to three. Either on the mantel, behind the couch, or under the tree skirt. Another moment later he ruled out the tree skirt –the bulge was not from a gift but rather from one of John's mislaid books. That left the mantel and the couch. Judging by how quiet it had been earlier in the night, Sherlock doubted John had moved any furniture. He turned to face the mantel, crossing the room smoothly before looking towards John.

John kept his face carefully still, giving away nothing. But he'd already given away everything, Sherlock realized with a grin. He was definitely in the right place. Sherlock peered over the stack of papers and the skull, and spotted a package, wrapped in cheerful red paper. Sherlock plucked it from its hiding place and turned to face John.

"Now you find yours," Sherlock said, stubbornly refusing to unwrap his gift until John had his as well. John smiled largely and stood up, surveying the room in a clear parody of what Sherlock had done a moment ago. It took him a bit longer than it had taken Sherlock, but a few minutes later he stepped forward to the tree and pulled out the dark green box.

"Same time?" John suggested, taking his seat and pulling Sherlock down to perch on the arm of the chair. Sherlock nodded, and in synchronized motions they removed the paper and opened the boxes.

John's brow furrowed, confused at the contents. "Sherlock, it's a cat collar," John pointed out, lifting it gently from the box. Sherlock nodded, a smile creeping over his face as John started to understand. "Did you-" Sherlock cut him off with a finger in the air. He rushed back to the loo and picked up the second part of John's present. Without much ado he deposited the ball of fur into John's lap. John looked up at him with a grin, and scooped the kitten into his hands.

"Sherlock, you got me a kitten!" he pointed out, petting the tabby's head lightly.

"I know you had one as a child, and you missed it," Sherlock replied, happy that John was pleased with his gift. John grinned again and fastened the collar around the kitten's neck.

"Open your gift, and then we'll name her," John decided, turning so that the kitten was in his lap and he was facing Sherlock.

The detective complied, popping the lid off of the box and grinning at the contents. "John, it's perfect!" he exclaimed, leaning down impulsively to kiss his partner on the cheek. He looked back at his present, a leather-bound notebook perfect for his experiments. He'd always wanted one, but had never been able to find one he liked. This one was perfect, black leather, small enough to fit his pockets, lined pages on one side for notes and unlined on the other for diagrams. Absolutely ideal.

"Well, it's no kitten, but I think it'll do," John replied easily. Sherlock shook his head at that, an indulgent smile on his face.

"It's exactly what I wanted," Sherlock said, glancing at the kitten as it jumped down from John's lap and onto the floor. "But what are we going to call her?"

John gave a devilish grin. Clearly he had a plan. "I was thinking Queen Mycroft," he suggested. Sherlock began to giggle.

"Queen Mycroft," he repeated. The kitten turned and cocked her head at the pair, making them both laugh until Sherlock slid off the arm of the chair and into John's lap.

"Mmm, happy Christmas, Sherlock," John whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Sherlock's lips.

"Happy Christmas, John," Sherlock answered, leaning over to capture John's mouth once more.


End file.
